


Hockey Night in Chicago

by mrs_d



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 08:56:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12931887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: Stella taught him to love the game, and he wants somebody to share that with. Somebody he doesn’t have to talk into staying or make out with so they won’t leave at the first intermission.





	Hockey Night in Chicago

**Author's Note:**

> Sue me, I'm just really sad that _Leafs-suck-Hawks-rule_ Ray K never got to see the hockey Fraser that Ray V met in "The Blue Line," okay?

Saturday nights are the only time he misses her.

Well, maybe that’s not true. He misses her always, but as time goes on, he finds that Saturday nights are when he misses her the most. Well— Saturday nights in the winter. When he’s not working. So, two Saturday nights a month, assuming he’s not pulling overtime on a case, in the winter: those are the days when he’s most aware that he misses her. That and Christmas, but everybody misses somebody at Christmas, so that doesn’t count.

The point is, he misses her. Because Saturdays — in the winter, when he wasn’t working — were pretty much the only nights they’d definitely be together and most likely at home. Stella called it her _veg night_ , which meant that she was more likely than usual to opt for Ray’s pizza-and-beer meal plan. Sometimes they’d go out dancing, but more often than not, Stella didn’t want to dress up. Which was fine with Ray. Stella in her PJs was just as beautiful as any other Stella, but softer. They’d curl up on the couch and turn on the TV, happy to watch whatever was on. Usually, that was the Blackhawks game.

Not a lot of people know this, but Stella’s a huge hockey fan. At least, Ray assumes she still is. She grew up with three brothers, and all of them were big into the sport. One of them got _this close_ to the NHL before he blew his knee out. Now he coaches at U Illinois — or, he did, anyway; Ray hasn’t talked to the guy in forever, the situation being what it is and all. Stella never got to play when they were kids, though. (Something about how her parents thought it would turn her butch— ha. Ray would’ve loved to be a fly on the wall when she told them about the Ice Queen last year.) Stella had to take figure skating lessons instead, but every chance she got, she’d put on a pair of skates that her brothers outgrew and hit the ice with them, chasing pucks and kicking ass. Good practice for the courtroom, probably.

And Stella’s team — always and forever — is the Blackhawks. Her heart beats red and black, and when she watches them play, she gets really into it. Like, really _really_ into it. Ray took her to a game once, and the energy was just... it was something else, that’s for sure. And the sex afterwards, well, that was pretty mind-blowing, too.

So, if there’s a night to miss Stella, it’s Saturday. In the winter. When he’s not working.

A few times right after she moved out, he tried the old ritual. Ordered a pizza, cracked open a beer, put the game on. Even jerked off after, thinking of her — and, okay, maybe one or two of the players, too, no one could blame him for that. But it wasn’t the same, and the loneliness just kept creeping in, and he always ended up going to bed feeling worse than before.

He tried it with girls he was dating, too, but that wasn’t right either. The fact is that not a lot of the women interested in him are also interested in hockey. He’s pretty sure that the overlap is pretty small — maybe just limited to one: Stella. He tried to teach a few of them the game, but most of them thought him inviting them over to watch hockey was some kind of code for blowjobs on the couch. Which, okay, but it’s really hard to focus on getting your dick sucked when you hear the announcer say something about the injury roster or when the other team scores. No matter what she’s doing with her tongue down there.

Because, the fact is that Stella taught him to love the game, and he wants somebody to share that with. Somebody he doesn’t have to talk into staying or make out with so they won’t leave at the first intermission. Basically, he wants Stella. And since he can’t have Stella anymore, except in very specific circumstances that she sets, well, he ends up working a lot of weekends.

Until the Mountie shows up.

* * *

They go into this bar, a real dive by the name of Willie’s, to meet an informant one Saturday night. Ray notices as soon as they get there that there’s a TV playing the Hawks/Oilers game, and, yeah, it hurts for a second, but he checks the score and shakes it off, focuses on finding Carl, his snitch. He sees him at the back table and gestures for Fraser to wait for him.

Fraser doesn’t answer, but Ray’s pretty sure he nods, so he heads over to meet Carl, who’s looking a lot calmer than usual. (The weed smell coming off him in waves probably has something to do with that.)

Ray finds out what he needs to know, asks Carl to keep him in the loop — he blinks his glassy eyes and nods — and heads back to the bar where he left Fraser. He leans in close and tells Fraser what Carl was just saying.

“So what do you think?” he asks in a more normal voice once he’s finished.

But Fraser doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even blink, but his eyes are moving, watching— _nice,_ Chelios just scored one to even it up. Ray jerks his eyes back to his partner, sees a faint frown crease his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, thinking that maybe Fraser had done some reflecting on Carl’s intel and wasn’t happy about it.

Fraser honest-to-god grunts in reply. Ray’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Fraser?” he asks, wondering for a second if Fraser’s having a seizure.

Fraser mumbles out something that sounds like “Of course, I agree.”

Ray stares for another moment, and then he can’t help but grin. He’s been married, he knows a _Yes, dear_ when he hears it. Fraser’s gone, completely sucked into the TV, and Ray’s ecstatic. He’s never seen Fraser like this— so normal, so guy-ish, so... Ray shakes his head. So Canadian.

After five more minutes like this, Ray checks his watch and decides to clock out for the night. He wasn’t supposed to be working anyway, but Carl called him, and Fraser said he had nothing to do, so here they are. During a commercial break, he settles at a table with a good view of the game and manages to drag Fraser over to join him. Fraser stutters out an apology, of course, but Ray just flags down the waitress and orders a beer for himself, plus an app platter to share. Fraser thanks him, his sentence trailing off as a penalty is called, and Ray just smiles.

It’s the best Saturday night he’s had in years.


End file.
